


The Queen's Cat

by Turwen



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/F, Númenóreans and their descendants are POC, fight me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-20 05:27:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17616374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turwen/pseuds/Turwen
Summary: They would say in later days that her cats were everywhere, that they heard all, that they reported it back to her. In truth, it was only ever me.





	The Queen's Cat

They would say in later days that her cats were everywhere, that they heard all, that they reported it back to her. In truth, it was only ever me.

 

The cats _were_ everywhere though.

 

“My lady,” I said as I stepped through the small doorway and slid back the panel of false wall. “You sent for me?” I had seen Gimhuzun earlier and she only ever let him out to signal that I was needed that night.

 

“I want to know what my ears heard at Lord Targon’s party.” Berúthiel was like that. She never wasted words, especially with those who were close to her. Always to the point, always with a purpose. She stood from the writing desk in the corner of the room next to the window and gestured to her dress.

 

I crossed over to her and began undoing the ties at the nape of her neck. Her veil was already resting on the dresser. “There was nothing of much interest,” I said, as my fingers worked. “Lady Almiel had some things to say about the new statues. They were not particularly complimentary, nor were the comments they evoked from others. Beyond that, the gossip was nothing you haven’t known for days. It appears the King’s visit was as mundane as it seemed.”

 

“Hm.” She shrugged off the loosened shoulders of the gown and I crouched as I helped it slide over her underdress. “It is unfortunate to hear that the people of Osgiliath do not appreciate fine sculpture.” She stepped out of the dress and moved towards the bed, undoing her hair herself, a habit I had never been able to break her of.

 

“No matter,” she said with a finality that always meant the topic was now closed. She shook her head, letting the dark waves fall down her back before turning to me. “The King has returned to the palace in Pelargir.” A slight smile played across her usually impassive face, the fire from the hearth reflecting in her eyes with the faintest twinkle.

 

I reached out and caressed my thumb across a soft cheek that glowed like red clay in the light, before leaning in.

 

They would say in later days that her cats were everything Berúthiel had and all that mattered to her in the end. They would be wrong.

 

 


End file.
